No Other Way
by In The Hanging Tree
Summary: Harry Potter realizes that he wouldn't ever have it any other way. Not with her. One Shot. Slightly AU [Harry Potter X Reader]


**Snow Patrol - **_Chasing Cars__**, **_**All Time Low - **_Painting Flowers__**, **_**Paramore**_** \- **__The Only Exception__**. **_

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**No Other Way**

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"_I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable…_  
_Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,_  
_Missing me one place search another,_  
_I stop somewhere waiting for you.__**"**_

— Walt Whitman, _Song of Myself_

**~.~**

**[****N**ame**]** really wasn't having much of a good time at Slughorn's Christmas party.

Slughorn's office was much larger and spacious than the usual teacher's study. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner and a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation.

"How're you doing, Miss [Surname]?" A very giddy Slughorn had boomed as she'd squeezed in through the door. "Come on in," he had said. "You look lovely, just as usual." He'd winked.

"You look quite extraordinary yourself, Professor," She'd greeted him, eyeing the tasseled velvet hat he had worn, matching with his smoking shirt.

"Why is it," Slughorn had said, pausing to usher guests inside and looking at her. "That such a charming young lady like yourself is all alone?"

She'd blanched; she'd been hoping that no one was going to notice. She'd forced on a smile, and tried to summon all her reserved enthusiasm she'd stored away for civility. "I decided to come stag, Professor. I didn't ask anyone, and no one asked me," She'd replied with a shrug.

Slughorn had stared at her, and said, "Well, they don't know what they're missing out, [Name]," he'd patted her on the shoulder sympathetically. He'd glanced over her shoulder. "Oh!" He had exclaimed, motioning her to look backwards, and began to introduce her to his guests.

After she'd met the Keeper of Chudley Cannons, Harrison Grey, a very stout looking bloke, who was very warm and kind to her and asked her whether or not she would be interested in playing Quidditch professionally (She'd been a Chaser for the Slytherin House since her second year) and a well-known author of time-travel, Jerome Walker, who'd proceeded to chat with her about his theories, she had skillfully slipped away in the crowd, determined not to allow Slughorn to introduce her to anyone else after he made her chat with a reporter from the _Witch Weekly. _She was positive she would go mad if she had to endure another minute of hearing how it was crucial for her to use lip-gloss and who-knew-what cream for her skin.

_This wacky party can rot in hell._

She huffed, straightening the collar of her dress; she wasn't exactly used to dressing up for occasions and parties. Her long [H/C] tresses fell down her waist; she wore a knee-cut midnight-dark silk sleeveless dress with a modest neckline,aglimmer with clusters of tiny crystals like constellations.

She stood in a corner, isolating herself from hormone-driven, wild teenaged wizards and witches around her. She briefly caught Neville Longbottom's eye, who was serving drinks and beaming as his gaze met hers.

She and Longbottom had Herbology together, and no matter his grades in Potions, that boy was a genius in Professor Sprout's class—she even considered him a friend—if you could _call _someone from the Gryffindor House your friend.

And [Name] didn't have many to even begin with.

As she was contemplating how to escape this atrocity without Slughorn noticing, a long mane of chestnut brown hair crashed into her headfirst at all of a sudden, making her jerk back and almost trip on her feet. She gripped the pillar for support—and thank God—gained back her equilibrium. She glared at the brunette who'd stumbled on her, "Watch where—"

"Sorry!" Hermione Granger apologized as [Name] stared at her, baffled, "Hey," Granger said; her voice sounded a little giddy, "Aren't you in Ancient Runes with me?"

"It's okay," she murmured and then shrugged, eyeing her cautiously. "And yeah, I am."

Granger seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, and suddenly a smile broke out on her face, "You're [Name]—"

"[Name] [Surname]," She replied curtly, hoping to get Granger off her back; she _did _seem a bit drunk.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Granger introduced herself as [Name] bit back a snarky _I know who you are. _"You're a Slytherin, right?"

[Name], even though had never directly spoken to Granger, admired her intelligence since their First year in Hogwarts. She liked the bushy-haired fierce Gryffindor all right. She smiled at Granger, pouring as much warmth as she could gather in it, resignedly ignoring the huge part of her that kept chanting: _Go away. Go away. Please go away._ "Yes," she answered. "You look rather distressed, Granger," she tried to sound friendly to the disheveled girl. "I don't mean to pry, but is there something wrong?"

Granger stared at her for a second, looking as if debating with herself whether or not [Name] were real. "Hermione," Granger said firmly, smiling at her pleasantly. "Please call me Hermione." Granger paused as [Name] nodded. "It's actually quite a depressing story," Granger—Hermione—said, a frown stretching across her face. "You really wouldn't want to know."

[Name] smirked, "Try me."

Hermione told [Name] about her rather bothersome "Almost Quidditch Keeper of Gryffindor House" date, Cormac McLaggen, who she'd escaped from under a mistletoe and afterwards (somewhat hesitantly) her ploy to make Weasley jealous.

[Name] stared incredulously at her, "You know, Hermione," she said tentatively. "I think you should just tell Weasel how you feel. I'm quite sure the feeling is mutual."

"Ha!" Hermione said; her expression full of disbelief and bitterness. "If it were, [Name], I really don't think he'd be snogging Lavender Brown senseless."

"You may have not noticed it," [Name] said softly. "But I am a Slytherin. I don't even care about Gryffindors' love lives," She paused. "And even _I _had to witness him look at you all moony-eyed the whole Fifth Year in Care of Magical Creatures." She continued. "That Weasel's _bleeding enamored_ with you—although, I honestly think you could do better than Weasley—"

"Hermione!" A voice called out from behind her, cutting her off. "Hermione!"

Hermione and she looked towards the source of the voice, finding none other than Harry Potter approaching them, pulling Luna Lovegood along with him. Hermione looked at Potter and smiled at him and his Date. "Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!" She exclaimed.

Potter and Lovegood rounded their corner in seconds. "Harry and Luna," Hermione introduced, "[Name] [Surname]."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Lovegood. "It's kind of weird, [Name]. There are too many Wrackspurts around you."

"Likewise," [Name] chirped politely. She had never spoken to the infamous Loony Lovegood either. "But you'll have to excuse me, Luna, what are Wrackspurts?"

"Oh, they're invisible creatures. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy —"

Potter cut Lovegood off mid-sentence as he held out a hand to [Name], glaring at her and looking rather annoyed, and [Name] refused to shake it with just as much of distaste. "_Pleased_ to make your acquaintance, [Surname]." There was sarcasm in his tone.

"Spoken like a true Gryffindick, Potter; boisterous and rude," she replied spitefully. "Exactly what I expected from you. Have fun."

She turned to Hermione and Lovegood, "It was very nice to meet you, Hermione; Luna," she said, nodding towards them, who smiled, "Now," she added pointedly. "If you'll excuse me." And left them, walking towards Neville Longbottom, who was now serving some kind of Cherry Tart at the moment. He smiled at her as she approached him, and a bewildered Harry Potter stared after her in confusion, with only one question ringing in his mind: _Who the bloody hell does she think she is?_

* * *

Harry Potter stared at [Name] [Surname] as he took a sip of his mead, standing alone. Hermione had scolded him obscenities for behaving rudely to the Slytherin, but really, didn't Slytherins deserve it?

When he'd proceeded to say so to his brunette friend, she'd looked furious. Hermione lectured him for at least fifteen minutes about inter-house unity before letting the subject drop.

She was talking with Neville Longbottom, Harry noticed, and was laughing hysterically at something he'd said.

She was pretty; he had to give her that. Her wavy [H/C] hair cascaded in ringlets down her waist. She was slender, and had a creamy porcelain complexion, and light features and strong cheekbones that were accentuated by her [E/C] eyes. She reminded him of a dancer; there was a strange sort of elegance in her movements that he was unable to nail.

She wasn't just pretty; she was breathtakingly beautiful.

And he was never going to say it aloud that he'd ever acknowledged the fact.

Nor was it that her words had stung, either. He _really_ couldn't care less.

Or so he told himself.

"Hello there, McLaggen," He heard her greet a very sweaty and confused looking Cormac McLaggen, breaking through the crowd of wizards and witches.

McLaggen approached her wearily, his expression full of distrust for the Slytherin. "What do you want, [Surname]?"

He watched her closely. _Your blood, _the look in her eyes seemed to say, and a horrible smile was plastered upon her lips. "What? Don't you have time for a friendly chat?"

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Cormac flinch. "Yes," McLaggen answered quietly. "Of course."

[Name] smiled warmly. "You look rather handsome tonight, McLaggen. Who's the lucky date?"

McLaggen grinned at her, and Harry could almost deduce the look in his eyes as flirtatious. "Well, you look quite lovely, too," he said, and Harry involuntarily flinched. "Hermione Granger." He said flatly. "She's my date. Have you happened to see her? I've been searching for her for quite a long time."

_She_ _invited you as _her_ date, McLaggen._

"Granger, you say?" A thoughtful expression clouded her face. "Well, I did see her with Professor Slughorn a few minutes ago. She," [Name] pointed towards Harry's left, her gaze meeting his briefly, and for a second he almost thought she'd winked at him, "Was just there."

Cormac smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you." He said, "Now I must find her, if you'll excuse me."

"Of course," she replied, smirking. "But do taste those tarts they're serving, would you? They're quite delicious."

"Of course," McLaggen smiled. And was gone, vanishing between the crowd.

"So, Potty," [Name] said to Harry, sounding rather bored. "What gifts have you been receiving from the female population of Hogwarts these days?"

Harry blanched. "That is none of your business, [Surname]," he retorted. "Leave me alone."

"Believe me, Potter," she said. "I would _love_ to ditch such a git as barmy as you, but my hands are tied."

"How so?" Harry had a hard time cooling his temper.

"Because McLaggen leaves me no choice but to be near you; he's about to be taught a lesson, and I need to watch from a safe distance." She muttered, looking sideways. "And this is the most secluded place I can find."

"Excuse me?" Harry felt baffled.

"Just wait and see."

He did both.

McLaggen, upon failing to find Hermione, had preceded to brood and begrudgingly accepted a Tart from a nearby server, who, much to Harry's surprise, happened to be Neville Longbottom, who winked at [Name] subtly and was gone.

"What was that?" He asked her.

"Patience is a virtue, Potty." She muttered.

"Would you stop calling me that?" He snapped.

"I've been told you dislike Saint Potter," she replied scathingly. "Although, Harold seems much better a choice, don't you think?"

He glared at her icily, "Shut—"

"I already have, Harold," she whispered in his ear, cutting him off.

And they both watched Cormac McLaggen, conceited and boisterous and prudish Cormac McLaggen, loudly confess his undying love for Professor Snape. Watching him getting detention for the rest of the semester and losing twenty points didn't hurt either.

Well, the latter did bother Harry, but the Slytherin was as joyous as ever.

"Love potion," she whispered in his ear, giggling. And he understood why she'd asked him about the gifts he'd received. He couldn't suppress the smile that made its way on his lips.

And for a moment, he too, allowed himself to be happy.

* * *

The entire time, Harry stared at [Name], his gaze never wavering from her; not as she danced with Blaise Zabini, not as she made Neville laugh so hard that he almost dropped his serving tray, not as she bickered with him.

Not as she told Slughorn that Draco Malfoy, who in fact, had not been trying to gatecrash, but was her date who had decided to show up late (Harry didn't believe that for a second), and spoke in hushed tones with him, before eventually Snape pulled the two of them aside and led them to a deserted classroom.

She said nothing, only stood there, listening to Snape trying to talk to Malfoy. She listened to Snape's attempts to console Malfoy, she listened to Malfoy explode in anger, yet she said nothing at all. Not a word.

And as Malfoy strode out of the room and down the corridor, Harry heard her sigh from under his invisibility cloak. "Give him time, Professor," she told Snape wearily. "He's doing his best."

Snape sounded resigned as he spoke, "His best may not be enough, Miss [Surname]," he sighed too. "Please help him."

"I _am_ trying to help him," she said, sounding frustrated. "But he doesn't _want_ it. Hell," she said, "He's been avoiding me like the plague."

Harry could see the corner of Snape's mouth twitching. "That's exactly what I expected. But do tell me, [Surname]," Snape said, "Who was the one that fed Mr. McLaggen the Love Potion?"

Her face visibly paled. "I—I," she stammered; of all the information Harry had gained by eavesdropping on Snape and their conversation, this was amusing him the most. Harry was having fun watching her like this: embarrassed, red-faced and twitching. "What—what are you talking about, Professor?" She asked with a surprisingly convincing straight face.

"You got all of it right, by the way," Snape said, sounding just as amused as Harry was. "You should have stirred it counter-clockwise for a little longer, though; it's going to wear off early."

"I—I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," she tried again; Harry had a hard time stifling his snickers; the door was open, if Snape or [Surname] heard him, he would be dead.

Snape smirked at her, but it wasn't in a condescending way, like he always sneered at Harry. And for a moment, Harry deemed her extremely lucky. "It's hard to lie when you stutter, [Surname]," Snape's tone was almost affectionate. Almost. "Although, being an awful liar isn't a bad quality in a person. I knew someone once – just as bad as you," Harry could see Snape suppressing a smile.

"Who?"

Snape seemed to shrug; he'd never seen him do so. "I might even tell you about her one day, [Surname]," he said. "But for now you have a week of detention during Christmas Break—I know you're staying, and don't think you'll get off the hook this easily the next time."

And Snape left, leaving a dumbfounded [Name] alone in the classroom.

That night, Malfoy and Snape's words, alongside her [E/C] eyes haunted his dreams, and he wondered what lay beneath their hard exterior. What was in their stare that made him feel so uneasy?

He didn't think he'd ever have the chance to know.

But he was determined to.

_Why, though? What is it of to you? _

He didn't know, he decided finally. But he was just going to go with the flow.

After Christmas, when Harry returned to Hogwarts, he began to notice [Name] more often. She was there in the hallways, in the dungeons, in Transfiguration, in Potions—Harry couldn't fathom how she'd done it until now, how she'd managed to remain invisible to him so subtly for this long.

He tried to recall the first time he'd seen her, but couldn't. He'd known _of _her, of course. She was the most vicious Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch Team; the most he'd see of her would be in Quidditch matches with Slytherin, riding in the wind and chasing Quaffles. She was also there in Potions; always sitting alone in a corner, chewing the insides of her cheeks, her hands always fidgeting over her cauldron.

He began to watch her just as closely as he watched Draco Malfoy these days, and he was rendered surprised to see how few people she actually talked with, he could almost feel the anti-social vibes rolling off her as she occasionally smiled forcefully at people, feigning politeness.

He would watch with amusement as she bantered with Draco Malfoy in the Great Hall, poked him in his sides. Malfoy would fire her a glare, which would begin to soften as she glared right back at him, and his lips would twitch and break into a smile. They'd argue ruthlessly, ricocheting back and forth; it was almost hilarious to watch. They seemed to be quite close, he would note with a twist in his stomach.

She and Blaise Zabini would trade words here and there, and Theodore Nott would grumble about her being a pain in his arse the whole day; Hermione and she'd begun to form a friendship, too. Hermione had begun to ditch him and Ron and now sat next to her in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts after the row they'd had. Neville and she seemed to know each other well, too. Terry Boot too, seemed to be extremely fond of her.

This disconcerted him. A lot.

Then Ron was poisoned, and he had caught her screaming at Malfoy as he went down the dungeons. Seeing him interrupt had silenced her, but the fire in her eyes, the accusing [E/C] of them had kept glaring at Malfoy, silent and foreboding.

It was even worse after Gryffindor lost to Hufflepuff during his last match. She began to walk with him intentionally, not quite following him, but striding beside him, as if knowing fully well how much it bugged him. She would snigger when he passed her in the corridors, and whisper to him, "Weasley really is Gryffindor's king, isn't he, Harold?"

It was excruciating.

He tried his best to ignore her, but failed rather comically. Every jab, every insult she would throw at him never failed to hit a nerve.

But [Name] made him smile, too.

"_Would you like me to teach McLaggen another lesson?" She'd whispered abruptly one day after his epic defeat against Hufflepuff in the library as Madam Pince fidgeted away with the books in the Restricted Section. "I had a few ideas, if you were wondering."_

"_Excuse me?" Harry had whispered back incredulously._

"_You heard me," she'd mumbled with a shrug. "I was just trying to get your spirits up. That broody face doesn't suit you at all."_

"_And why in Merlin's name would you do that?" He had never felt so baffled._

"_Because," she'd shrugged again. "Doing so would lighten you up, wouldn't it? You're no longer amusing to me if you keep brooding like that the whole day."_

"_I…" Harry had been at a loss for words. People called him many things, but amusing wasn't an adjective he'd heard someone use to describe him. "I _amuse_ you?"_

_This had gotten a smirk out of her, "We may not be friends, Harold," she'd murmured. "But I won't be able to deny that I enjoy your company." She almost smiled. "The way you huff and puff around me like a Victorian old lady amuses me to no end, Besides, you'll owe me," she grinned._

_He too, wouldn't be able to deny that he enjoyed her company, no matter how much of a pain she was. But seriously, a Victorian old lady? Is _that_ what she thought of him? Something inside his stomach clenched. "Fine." He'd replied against his better judgment, sighing. "It's good to know that someone cares how my face looks like."_

"_Don't worry," she assured him with sincerity. "You're the good lad—the Chosen One with the pretty face. Girls these days dig that; you'll be in no shortage of girlfriends very soon."_

_He'd been as red as a tomato._

Do _you _dig that? _A curious part of his being had wanted to ask her. _Do _you _fancy me?

It irritated him, how a fraction of him perked up when she was nearby, how the mischievous glint in her eyes made his insides squirm, how a wink from her would turn his cheeks bright red.

She… She almost acted like his friend. But a part of him denied calling her that. If not his friend, then what was she to him?

The next day, Harry and his fellow Gryffindors noticed that Cormac McLaggen's nose seemed to get an inch longer every time he boasted or behaved rudely to someone. At the end of the day, his nose had grown seven inches longer. When he'd been brought to Madam Pomfrey, even she had to admit that it was, indeed a nasty hex, that would take a week to wear off.

At night, during dinner at the Great Hall, she winked at him from the Slytherin table, shooting him a thumbs-up when no one was looking. He didn't know how to react at all. All he mustered that night was a small smile of gratitude, and she'd beamed back at him, looking jubilant. This felt really weird to him.

"Hermione," Harry asked without even consulting his own mind. "Doesn't that Slytherin girl strike you as odd?"

"[Name]?" Hermione questioned back as he nodded. "Not at all. What makes you think that?"

"She's weird," he shrugged. "She hangs out with _both_ Malfoy and you. She's a Slytherin and she wanted to befriend you, doesn't that seem even a tiny bit suspicious?"

She stared at him incredulously, "What are you trying to say, Harry?"

"Have you ever thought that she might be spying on us on the behalf of Malfoy and his cronies? Why is she," He groaned. "So bloody annoying?"

Hermione stopped drinking her pumpkin juice and burst into giggles, "You—you," she managed between fits of laughter, "You seriously don't think that, do you?"

At Harry's somber expression, her laughter died. "Okay," she said, "You're under the wrong impression, Harry," she said a bit defensively. "She and Malfoy grew up together since they were babies, what do you expect? Although, she tells me the younger version of Malfoy was less snotty," she chuckled, but it slowly turned into a grimace as she got up. "Her father—he's a crazy blood-purist. Her mother died when she was five in an accident," Hermione coughed. "Cut her some slack; she already thinks she's never going to have a normal life." She declared. "And let me clarify something: she is _not_ spying on me or anyone else."

And then she stormed off.

_Ah, that would answer why she stayed over Christmas Break._

He suddenly felt a tad guilty for behaving rudely to her and bickering with her every minute of the day.

_Wait, she'd been there with Snape and Malfoy that night of Slughorn's party. She would know what Malfoy's up to. She would know what task Snape had asked her to help Malfoy with._

Why had he forgotten to mention her presence to Ron and Hermione before?

He could go and ask her, but would she answer him?

He sincerely doubted it.

* * *

Harry had been busy for the past few days and had not seen much of [Name].

After Ron and Hermione came back from their Apparition tests and he from his futile attempts at persuading Slughorn to give him his long suppressed memory, he'd felt extremely disappointed.

Like the three of them had originally wanted to, he drank the Felix Felicis. And he suddenly discovered before drinking it that he wasn't actually saving it to woo Ginny and make Ron appreciative of their relationship at all, but for getting the truth out of [Name]'s mouth about Malfoy's mission that he was sure had been given to him by Voldemort. And getting to know why she insisted on pestering him and be so infuriating wouldn't actually hurt either…

And he cheerily set out to Hagrid's cottage for Aragog the acromantula's funeral, entirely unaware of what lay ahead of him.

He couldn't believe his luck. He couldn't believe it at all.

He had been successful to retrieve Slughorn's memory and learned about Voldemort's Horcruxes with Dumbledore. He knew what power he had that Voldemort didn't. He knew what the key to his nemesis's destruction was.

He was overjoyed.

And as he made his way to the Gryffindor Common Room with the new password from Dumbledore, he discovered that Felix Felicis hadn't worn off him yet.

He climbed the staircase and sauntered through the corridor that led to the Gryffindor Common Room in his invisibility cloak. He had been a tad distracted, he guessed. Because the next second, he had crashed into someone walking by. Hard.

Exhaustion had never been his friend.

And whoever he had crashed into fell onto the floor with a loud thud, groaning in pain.

Because he had been unsettled and his movements were sluggish, his invisibility cloak slipped away from him, in front of his victim, and he felt oddly naked.

"I'm extremely sorry," he babbled, picking his cloak of invisibility. "I didn't see you coming—"

"Potter's gone blind," [Name] grumbled, standing up. "Never mind. You've always been blind, Harold."

He stared at her, flabbergasted. There was a grimace plastered onto her features. There was an echo of sadness in her pale face, as if she were Atlas bearing the sky on her shoulders. Her eyes suddenly seemed very old, as if they'd witnessed all the pain and misery of the universe.

Her hair was disheveled, and in desperate need of brushing. She sported a well-worn Slytherin green hoodie, a size too big for her and baggy trainers. Dark circles fringed her red eyes. Her pale skin had taken on a grey-ish shade.

She looked like terrible: broken and falling apart.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"I've started desiring things that will destroy me in the end," her words were slurred. Was she… Was she drunk? "Like you. Doesn't it seem crazy?"

"It's horrifying, Harry," her voice lacked its usual confidence; a strange vulnerability reigned over her. It was the first time she'd called him Harry. "Knowing that the fake normalness I'm so enamored with is going to slip away this soon." She mumbled with a yawn. "Why are so many bad things happening? Why does it have to be him? Why _his _soul?"

"Who are you talking about?" Harry now was definitely sure she was drunk.

She laughed bitterly, "Draco, Harry. What did he do to deserve this? What?"

"What has to be him?" He asked carefully; he wasn't sure he would get a chance like this in the future.

"It has to be him who slays him," she murmured, more to herself than him. "If he doesn't do it, he'll kill him…"

"What are you talking about?" He asked. "What are you even doing here after curfew, [Surname]? Why are you here?"

"He'll kill him and I won't be able to do anything to save him. He's threatened everyone, Harry," she was almost on the verge of tears. Her voice shook with anger. "How will he do it, Harry? He won't be able to forget…"

"It's not fair," she whispered to herself. "It's not fair at all."

"Why are you here?" Harry asked again, now contemplating the odds of being caught. "If Filch or Mrs. Norris sees you—"

"Mrs. Norris is sleepin'; she's sick," she said drowsily. "Filch is busy snogging Madam Pince."

"Seriously?" He asked incredulously.

"Yep." A confused stare. "Why are you talking to me, blind Potter? You're in my head, aren't you?" She touched his cheek with her hand, as if to assure herself he was real. "You're always there."

"What did you drink?" Harry questioned.

"Screw you," she grinned. "Ogden's Firewhiskey. Burned my throat. It helps, though," she muttered. "Numbs everythin' else."

Harry flinched.

She yawned again, and crouched down onto her knees. Then lied down onto the floor.

"Hey!" Harry nudged her with his arm. "Get up!"

"Lemme sleep, Potter," she mumbled.

"No," Harry said sternly. "Get up."

He helped her stand, steadying her with his hands. He pretended not to notice the electricity pulsing through his veins as he guided her forward with his hands on her waist.

[Name] seemed to have been right. Filch was nowhere in sight, nor was his doomed cat. Under his invisibility cloak, he made his way to the Slytherin Common Room with her.

"You scare me, Harold," she kept whispering. "You're going to go away like everyone else. You're going to leave me just like her; it scares me. All of you are. It hurts. There'll be no home for me."

He tried to ignore her drunken gibberish as he walked beside her, but couldn't, no matter how hard he tried.

"…That arsehole is going to take away everything from me," she muttered angrily. "Why did he have to exist? Why do _I_have to exist?"

He prayed to whatever deity listening that she wasn't having an existential crisis right now; he didn't know how to handle crying girls nor the ones who suffered from severe existential crisis. But if he had to choose, he'd go for the former.

"…Why do you always look at me like that, Harry?" She asked sturdily as they rounded another corridor.

"Like what?" He couldn't control his mouth.

"Like I'm this big puzzle you can't understand? Like you can't remain in the same room as me?"

He smiled at her, "You _are_ a big puzzle, [Name]. I don't hate you, you know."

"You should, Harold." Her voice was surprisingly quiet, though her words were garbled. "You should hate me with everything you have."

"Why?"

"Because that and hurting people are the only things I'm capable of."

Shivers racked his spine. She continued merrily, oblivious. "The more you'll care, Harold, the more you'll have to lose. Don't. It's a disadvantage."

It suddenly dawned upon him as he stared at her face, which had contorted from jolly to plain heartbroken. "You… You _do_care, don't you?" He asked, his voice shaking. "You act like you don't, you _think_ you don't, stamp it on your forehead to force people to see it, because… because you care _too _much." He finished as they rounded the Slytherin Common Room. "I'm right, aren't I?"

She didn't say anything in reply, only yawned.

"So I guess this is it?" He asked, looking down at her.

She was shorter than him, he noticed. He had at least four inches on her. They were standing rather close. Her hair was clouding her eyes; Harry had to resist the urge to remove the strands away from her face. His gaze lingered on her pink, luscious lips. What could go wrong? All it would really take was one step forward and her nose would be bumping against his chin, and then if he bent his head a little... [Name]'s lids lowered, her eyelashes fluttering softly, as if she was waiting for something to happen.

He forced himself to snap out of it.

But she didn't, she stood on her tiptoes, her gaze meeting his squarely, and surprisingly, she planted a small kiss on his cheek. "You are a dream, Harry; I hope I never meet you." She said, and then muttered the password to the portrait softly under her breath, and yawned sleepily.

The door opened, and inside she was gone.

The feeling of her lips on his cheek lingered for the rest of the night, and as he went back to the Gryffindor Common Room, he realized what he'd been trying to deny all this time. It unsettled him deeply to realize this, yet gave him satisfaction. The kind you get when you finally surrender to yourself.

Even after he changed into his pajamas and went to bed, she was the last thing he thought of before falling into a dreamless sleep.

_But you do care. And you didn't hurt me. And I… I think I care about you, too._

* * *

[Name] couldn't remember a time when she'd felt so worried about something.

She couldn't find Draco anywhere today. He wasn't there in classes; he'd even missed his meals at the Great Hall. She'd even searched the Room of Hidden Things, but it was empty.

_Where are you, Draco?_

She was now currently sauntering through the sixth floor in search of him; fortunately, it was a free period after Professor Vector's Arithmancy class. She paused in front of several empty classrooms, but Draco wasn't in any of them.

She'd been avoiding Harry Potter as best as she could during the entire week. This bothered her on an entire new level. People avoided _her_, not the other way around.

Drinking the entire bottle of Firewhiskey that she'd sneaked in from Hogsmeade with the help of her house elf, Ella, had clearly been a bad idea. Even though she'd passed her Apparition Test with surprising ease, the joy of it had been dampened by the truth about Draco's mission.

At first, she'd known that he'd been tasked to infiltrate Hogwarts with Deatheaters by the Dark Lord, but she didn't know that he had also been ordered to assassinate Albus Dumbledore. He'd told her about his plan concerning the Vanishing Cabinets in Borgin and Burkes and how hopeless it seemed.

Her father's letter hadn't helped much either.

_[Name],_

_I'm extremely pleased to inform you that the Dark Lord has been gathering young recruits, such as your friend Draco, to fight for his noble cause: the cleansing of our blood. I'm hoping that after your return from Hogwarts this summer, you will go with me to pledge your alliance to him and mark yourself as one of his loyal servants. I'm extremely proud of you and your grades. Severus tells me that you've been doing well this year. I love you. With this letter, I've sent some of your favorite sweets on Ella's insistence. How did your Apparition Test go? How's Malfoy's kid doing?_

_Love,_

_Dad_

Her father loved her, of course, but he didn't understand that his best friend from Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy, had brainwashed him so badly that he couldn't see the truth that was banging his door. He didn't understand that it wasn't the Muggleborns' fault their parents were not magical. He didn't understand that blood wasn't everything. He didn't know that no one's blood defined them.

After she'd gone to the Unknowable Room that day, she'd burst out into tears. Even Draco had been surprised to see her like this. After she showed him her Dad's letter, his features had twisted into a grimace of anger and disbelief. And Draco, despite all his terror, grief and problems, had embraced her and let her cry on his shoulder.

Draco comforted her that night, allowed her to cry on his shoulder, held and rocked her as she wept. He was there for her; he'd seemed to want to let her know.

Since their fathers had been close, there hadn't been a day when they'd not seen each other in their childhoods. They'd slept in the same bed, learned to walk holding each other's hands, and had taken all their lessons together.

And [Name] loved Draco, with all her heart and soul. They were friends, and it was enough for both of them. Seeing him suffer like this made her heart ache. It hurt her even more that he was unwilling to accept her help.

He was the only person who was permanent in her life, and he seemed to know it well enough. He made her laugh, he made her complete; he understood her in a way nobody did. Everyone else was temporary, leaving her and moving on eventually.

And he was hurting now, was it wrong of her to want to comfort him the way he did her?

Then there was Harry. Harry bloody Potter. The boy whose emerald green eyes were her assurance in childhood that love mattered in the world of hate she lived in; she could get lost in the green of his eyes and stay there for eternity. The boy whose crooked smile made her insides melt. The boy who was always kind and brave, who was always in her head. The boy who had chaotic raven hair that made her want to run her hands through it and lose herself with him.

And that was before she even _knew_ him.

Even though he'd first behaved rudely to her, no doubt due to his prejudice against her house, he'd warmed up to her eventually in his own way: bantering and quarreling with her, making her laugh, always sitting next to her in the library, joking with her.

And slowly, very slowly, making her fall more and more in love with him.

Annoying and teasing him pleased her way more than she'd care to admit, because watching him infuriated and frustrated gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. The light in his eyes, the endless green of them would set something alight just below her rib-cage, and within her chest, she'd feel as though there were a blazing sun, warm and radiant, and like him, the best thing in her life. Seeing him smile and being the reason for it left her in a state of dizzying happiness. And she would marvel how only months ago, she was _afraid _of it: feeling happy. It was what she'd been wanting to have her whole life: to quit being so weary of joy, for once to feel what kindness with no strings attached was like from a person (except Draco, who'd been the only person she'd ever been able to lean on, and who, unfortunately, was crashing down day by day. And she was so afraid for him that she couldn't even comprehend _what _to do, how to make him quit pushing her away.)

Before she knew Harry, he was a fictional figure who was the Prince who would whisk her away and run off into the sunset with her. But now he was even nowhere _near_ a Prince. He was just a regular person, a regular person who was too selfless for his own good, too much good-natured, too much of the twinkling stars to light the darkness of her night.

This disillusionment of Harry Potter had certainly done her good, even though he had been turned out to be nowhere near her expectations.

What irked her most was that she couldn't remember what she'd done after she'd left the Unknowable Room and gotten drunk. She could faintly recall crashing into Potter and strolling to the Slytherin Common Room with him. She couldn't remember whether or not they'd been having any conversation. She remembered kissing him on the cheek in her drunken haze.

Even thinking about it brought a blush to her neck. She felt her cheeks warm.

She was about to go search for Draco on the fifth floor when she noticed the boy's lavatory; she hadn't looked for him there.

_Is he here?_

[Name] did a quick scan through the stalls, but found no one there. "Draco?" She called out, her voice shaking. "Please, Draco. Are you there?"

"Go away!" A voice from the back shouted. "I don't need you!"

She hurried there, and quietly pushed the door open.

Draco was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed.

"Draco," she said calmly, her heart breaking at the sight. "Please. Let me in. I can help you—"

"YOU CAN'T BLOODY HELP ME!" Draco shouted, crouching down onto his knees. "YOU ARE JUST AS HELPLESS AS I AM, [NAME]!"

She moved towards him.

"STOP WALKING TOWARDS ME!"

She didn't, and walked to him with slow yet bold strides. She sat down on the floor with him; he was trembling.

She didn't even notice when her hands had involuntarily moved to his tear stained cheeks; she held his face still. He'd stopped shaking, it seemed to her that the absurdity of the whole situation had shocked him into immobility and silence.

"I don't need your sodding help," said Draco, turning to look her in the eye. His whole body was shaking once again. "But I can't do it. ... I can't. ... It won't work . . . and unless I do it soon ... he says he'll kill me. ..."

"I know," [Name] put her arms around him and pulled him in a hug. "I promise. We'll get through it together. I'll help you—with everything I have, and if—if we don't succeed, we—we'll run away together. We'll disappear. We'll take our parents with us—"

"He'll find us," Tears were streaming down his face. "He'll hunt us down… Our fathers will never agree…"

"Draco," she said firmly, blinking rapidly to stop her tears. "I love you. D'you understand? I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

She rubbed soothing circles on his back. "It's okay." She kept murmuring in his ear.

"I have faith in you." She whispered.

The door of the stall creaked open, and she turned behind sharply, to meet curious and familiar looking emerald green eyes. Draco pulled himself away from her and stood up, drawing out his wand. She saw Harry reach for his wand too. And before she could even say anything, Draco had fired a hex at Harry, which missed him by inches, shattering the wall beside him.

Harry threw himself sideways, and flung some non-verbal spell at Draco's direction, but he blocked his jinx and raised his wand again—

"STOP!" [Name] screeched, "STOP IT! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL EACH OTHER!" Her voice echoed around the tiled room. "STOP RIGHT NOW!"

There was a loud bang and the bin behind Harry exploded; Harry attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy's ear and hit the wall behind him instead, or rather the cistern near it; water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Draco, his face contorted, cried, "Cruci—"

"NO!" [Name] shouted.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" Bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.

But surprisingly, without him noticing, [Name] had come between the two of them, and her body had shielded Draco from the curse.

And all she could see and feel was darkness.

* * *

Blood spurted from [Name]'s face and chest as though she had been slashed with an invisible sword. She staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, her limp body unmoving.

"No!—" Gasped both Harry and Malfoy.

"_I've started desiring things that will destroy me in the end. Like you." _

Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward [Name], whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at her blood-soaked abdomen.

Malfoy seemed to have lost all his senses as he collapsed onto the wet floor beside her, pulling her head onto his lap and checking her for her pulse as she shook violently in her own pool of blood.

Harry felt horrified, a terrible feeling washed over him as he watched her bleed out. "No—I didn't—" He didn't even know what he was saying as he fell to his knees beside her.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD—!" What he saw in Malfoy's eyes could only be described as murder.

_I'm going to let you._

But Malfoy was cut off by Moaning Myrtle, who had appeared behind him, and let out a deafening scream: "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

_"You're a dream, Harry; I hope I never meet you"._

His vision blurred.

The door banged open behind Harry and he looked up, terrified: Snape had burst into the room, his face livid. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over [Name], drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry's curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like a song. The flow of blood seemed to ease; Snape wiped the residue from her pale face and repeated his spell. Now the wounds seemed to be knitting.

Harry was still watching, horrified by what he had done, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood and water. Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead. When Snape had performed his countercurse for the third time, he half-lifted [Name] into a standing position.

"She'll need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if she takes dittany immediately, we might avoid even that… Come and help me, Mr. Malfoy..."

He and Malfoy both supported [Name] across the bathroom, and Snape turned at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, "And you, Potter… You wait here for me."

It did not occur to Harry for a second to disobey. He stood up slowly, shaking, and looked down at the wet floor. There were bloodstains floating like crimson flowers across its surface. He could not even find it in himself to tell Moaning Myrtle to be quiet, as she continued to wail and sob with increasingly evident enjoyment.

"_I was just trying to get your spirits up. That broody face doesn't suit you at all."_

"Merlin…" He whispered to himself, shaking. "What have I _done_?"

_If Malfoy had fired the Cruciatus Curse faster…_

_She would have taken it for you without hesitation._

* * *

There was darkness. And monsters as vast as worlds who swam in it.

There were monsters, nameless, faceless and shapeless. Squinting at her. Whispering to her. It was as if time had stopped, and the tiredness in her being felt like a thousand years old.

The monsters leered at [Name], taunted her, and prevented her from waking up. They stopped her from going past the wall they'd built.

_Why are you going? Stay with us, Little Bird. We get so lonely here…_

She fought and fought in their grasp. Twisting, squirming, kicking and writhing violently. Screaming, pushing and jerking. Her entire being ached for light, she punched and punched. But the darkness of concrete held her back, pushed her down.

_Let. Me. Out!_

She howled in agony.

_Why? You belong here. With us._

She pushed again.

_No. I don't._

She hurled her weight deeper.

_If that's what you want, Little Bird. But don't be sad when you realize you chose wrong._

It was only a flash of white to begin with, a small shaft of light piercing her eyes between the erratic flutters of her lids.

It was garish and intense, like that first blast of sun after a few too many Firewhiskeys and an uncomfortable nap, and she kept blinking, trying to adjust to it. Her eyes were starting to water when she realised she was staring up at a ceiling with one deep crack slicing across it and a few smaller cracks spreading from it, like crooked fingers.

She couldn't feel a thing, her body felt suspended and hollow, and she wondered if she was dead. It certainly felt that way, although there was a ticklish dryness in her throat that made her question it. She just kept staring at the crack, willing sensation to return.

And then her head began to throb, pain pulsating behind her eyelids and bouncing around her skull like a bludger; loud and unforgiving, as if pain could roar. She tried to breathe but her lungs felt below her knees. She couldn't even cry out or groan, and the instinct to do _something_ to react to the hurricane in her head was so formidable that she thought it would drive her insane if she left it too long.

Something gave, and she managed to loll her head to the side, forcing out a grunt that seemed to slice her windpipe to shreds.

"Easy, easy," soothed the familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey, "Don't move much, Miss [Surname]. You need rest."

The moment caught up with her then, the bizarreness of the situation, and she jerked away from Madam Pomfrey. Her eyes darted around the large room, analyzing everything that contributed to her surroundings; four white walls, three doors, some hospital beds-come-stretchers, a desk, a few chairs and a large cabinet. She could recognize it now; it was the infirmary.

[Name] leaned back to her pillow, trying to get comfortable after Madam Pomfrey fed her some healing potions.

"The curse Mr. Potter used on you gave you internal bleeding and six broken ribs," Pomfrey informed her. "If Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy brought you any later to me, then you would have had some serious scarring on your abdomen. Thank Merlin we were able to give you the dittany in time."

"How long…" She struggled to get the words out. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Two days," said Madam Pomfrey, "You're free to go to classes if you want to after today. You'll have to stay here for observation today, I'm afraid; I need to monitor your ribs until they fully heal. I did give you some Skele-gro after yesterday—"

"Madam Pomfrey," grunted a gruff voice from the second door, cutting her off. "Is she awake?"

And there stood a very disheveled looking Draco Malfoy next to the door. His blond hair looked chaotic and unkempt, as if he'd just gotten up from bed. His stormy smoldering eyes were red-rimmed and fringed with dark circles; she doubted he'd gotten much sleep during the last two days. His usually pale skin looked even more grey-ish now; his forehead was creased into a frown, as if he didn't dare himself to hope.

She winced at how lost he looked; to the normal eye it looked as though he'd only lost a few hours of sleep. But to her, his eyes spoke of desperation, grief: nights spent awake because he'd been too scared to confront his nightmares, bustling with cabinets and wishing and wishing like a fool for all of it to end.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, she is," Madam Pomfrey said angrily. "How many times do I have to tell you not to show up like this? Don't you have classes to attend to? I'm sure—"

"I have a free period right now, Madam Pomfrey," Draco said tersely. "I wanted to see her—"

"It's okay, Madam Pomfrey," [Name] reassured her, stretching across the bed and sitting up with a groan. "I would've asked for him eventually; I can't live without seeing this twat's face for a day." She said dryly, chuckling.

This brought a smirk to his face.

Pomfrey rolled her eyes, "Do as you please, Miss [Surname]." She turned to Draco. "And you," she said firmly, "You have twenty minutes. Don't do anything I wouldn't," she glared at him. "You'd regret it."

"Is it just me," said [Name] half to herself as Pomfrey went away, giving them privacy. "Or did she seem unusually hostile to you?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm the least likable between the two of us, in case you've forgotten," he said, taking the chair beside her bed and sitting on it.

"I've never let you forget it," she said, the corner of her lips twitching.

"It's… It's going well," Draco hesitated, "I've almost perfected the cabinet in the Unknowable Room. Maybe… Maybe… It'll work."

She coughed, "If I didn't have broken ribs that need to heal, I would have hugged you."

"I would have let you," he said, smiling as he stroked her hair. "But before that, I would've murdered Potter."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Draco," she murmured; her voice tentative but firm. "Were you—were you going to use the Cruciatus curse on him?"

This question seemed to startle him, because his face darkened and he blinked, wincing, "I—I," his voice shook with guilt, "I don't know. I might have. I've—I've _never_ felt so much angry towards someone before that moment he came into the bathroom, not—not even at _Him._"

Both of them could understand whom he meant. "There's a reason that curse is unforgivable, Draco." She said quietly. "No matter how angry you were, no matter how unfair the situation was to both of us, how _could _you—?"

"He's the reason you're hospitalized, [Name]," Draco hissed, his voice seething with anger. "How in hell can you defend_him_?"

"I'm _not_ defending him, Draco," she said, "Curiosity was his weakness, and he'll pay for it in his own way, but you? Do you even regret—?"

"_Of course _I do," he looked incredulous. "I hate him, yes. But I don't hate him enough to do such a thing—" He paused. "Or at least I didn't. Not until that moment, I didn't."

"You're not evil, Draco—"

"I am. I wasn't until then. I regret allowing him to hurt you like this. I—I should have fucking done _something_," he sounded abrasively bitter.

"You're not," she said firmly. Then she chuckled, and said almost to herself, "Aunt Cissy would _kill_ you if she knew you had such a potty mouth."

"Like you don't curse at all," he rolled his eyes at her, but he was smiling.

"Let me tell you something, Draco—"

"Let me guess, you're about to quote _The Guide to Console Rookie Deatheaters _by [Name] [Surname]?" He asked wryly.

She ignored him, nudged him on his side hard, making him groan and continued. "Evil people _never_ call themselves evil. They're so captivated by themselves that they can't see how... _rotten_ they are. They believe that it's them against the world," she said, staring at Draco in the eye. "Still think you're evil?"

He tried to smile at her, but it was one of the smiles that were half a grimace. "I wouldn't," he smirked, "But only if you promise to remain my faithful sidekick. Forever."

"I'm always going to be there, Draco," she said, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. "Whether you like it or not is entirely up to you."

He squeezed it back. "You honestly expect me to believe that?"

"I don't. But I hope you don't refuse when I smuggle you over the border into France. And I won't tell anyone where you went. Even if they stick bamboo shoots under my fingernails…"

"Bamboo shoots?" He looked as skeptical as ever. Who needed bamboo shoots in a world where things as lethal as a Cruciatus Curse existed?

"Don't tell me the idea of it isn't tempting," she grinned. "You know, we _could,_ actually—"

"You've gone entirely mental," he laughed.

"At least it makes you laugh," she grunted. "For that, I'll gladly take the psych ward at St. Mungos."

"Theo misses you, by the way; doesn't say it, but you can see it in the way he glares at Potter," he said, grinning, "So much for throwing a party on the day you die."

She was quiet for a moment. "We—we don't have a future anymore now, do we, Draco?" Her voice trembled. "They've made our choices themselves, and… And…" She struggled to find the words. "Now they're set in stone. Where…Where did we go wrong, Draco? "

"Genetics?" He suggested wryly.

"Don't joke about it," she muttered. "Please."

"Theo and Blaise both received letters from their father—or stepfather, anyway, whatever," he said very quietly. "They received the same letter as you, well mostly."

"That's horrid," she commented, sounding genuinely sad. "We're our own brand of fucked-up Slytherins, aren't we?"

"Two years ago," said Draco, "I would've argued with you, but now?" He grimaced. "I don't think I've ever heard anything truer."

* * *

When Neville told Harry in Charms that [Name] was awake, he couldn't decide what to feel: happy and relieved or guilty and hesitant. What he _did_ feel certainly sounded like a mixture of these emotions to him, though.

The last two days had been hell. The whole Gryffindor Quidditch team had been upset with him for getting detention during the final match of the season against Ravenclaw. Hermione couldn't determine what to say to him, and Ron, bless his soul, had blatantly taken his side. Although, atypically, Ron's support didn't matter to him on this subject, for he would happily plop down onto the couch and eat popcorn while seeing Malfoy or his associates face the apocalypse with child-like glee.

The whole day, he'd felt nauseated as he thought about her accusatory gaze on him after she returned to classes. That annoying and sardonic girl would probably vanish from his life, and the cold-eyed, stoic, unfriendly girl would replace her; the odds of it weren't anything if not out of ordinary.

What surprised him most was that he didn't want her to.

He almost laughed as he entered the dormitory after his detention with Snape, how many nights had he spent wishing that something like this would happen and she would disappear? How many times had he hoped not to see her in the library again? How many times had he thought of wiping that smug smirk off her face? How many times did he think of getting rid of her?

_And they say irony's dead._

He changed his clothes and said goodnight to Ron as he went under the covers. As he closed his eyes, he thought of it.

It seemed absurd.

It seemed downright foolhardy.

But he embraced the thought of it for a moment. And slowly, very slowly, an idea began to take place.

* * *

It was a full moon tonight, Harry noticed. The moonlight was falling down on her peaceful and sleeping face from the window near her bed. She looked content and surprisingly, innocent.

Harry would later on marvel what made fiends like her angels when they slept.

The infirmary was dark, and Madam Pomfrey had already retired to her sleeping quarters, leaving a very groggy looking [Name] asleep.

He'd actually set his stupid plan to motion; he'd taken the invisibility cloak and exited the Gryffindor Common Room around 2:30 in the morning, skillfully avoided Filch and Mrs. Norris, and then slinked into the infirmary; he'd even taken a swig of Felix Felicis for luck. It had been, he noticed with a dry smile, surprisingly easy.

But even to him, his actions seemed like the absurdities of a lovesick fool.

The consideration startled him. Why did he feel so desperate to apologize? Why was he so captivated by the girl who was now sleeping in the bed near him?

She had curled herself in a feral position under the eiderdown, clutching her pillow with her arms, almost looking as if clinging to it for dear life.

Harry was beginning to regret coming here, and even though the Felix Felicis was still inside his system, she was asleep. And even if she were awake, what was he going to say to her? _Hello, I'm so glad that I didn't kill you. By the way, I think I really, really fancy you. Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? And I'm sorry for all the rudeness you've been endowed with since the day you met me. Could we start over?_

He failed to stifle the loud snort that came out of him afterwards. And when it made [Name]'s eyes open as she jerked awake because of the sound, he couldn't fathom why he wasn't under his invisibility cloak.

But then again, he never seemed to be hiding under his invisibility cloak around her.

He could now, but she was already staring at him. Then she blinked, her gaze confused. He couldn't tell if she was going to scream. If she did, he didn't how many detentions awaited him.

"What," she choked out, glaring at him. "The fuck are you doing here, Potter?"

Harry flinched, but her gaze never left his. There was anger in it, that much he could recognize, but also something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Must I repeat the question? What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," he blurted out.

"See what? Whether or not I hex you to the next century?" She fumed. "And why does it have to be during three in the morning?"

"To say _sorry_," he pressed. "I really am sorry, [Name]."

"Feel free to stick it up your Chosen One arse," she muttered hotly. "If that curse hit Draco—"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked her incredulously, anger swelling in his chest. "He hexed _me! _He was going to use the _Cruciatus_curse on me for Merlin's sake! And any of it wouldn't have even happened if you didn't butt in!"

She laughed then, and it was uncharacteristically bitter. "I know what self defense means, Harold. But tell me something and be honest, if it did hit Draco, would you have apologized?"

"No," he said quietly. "I wouldn't, because that twat used an Unforgivable on me."

"Then why are you here? To you, he and I are supposed to be the same. Everything's either black or white for you," she grunted. "You don't need to see the ones who are stuck between shades of grey. Enjoy it while it lasts."

"You're not the same at all."

"You might imply that he acts like a prat and I don't, but that's the end of it," she sighed. "Both of us are helpless. And it's the worst feeling in the world."

"You're not a Deatheater," he said as he took the chair near the nightstand. "You're witty. You can pull great pranks; you make me laugh. You're not a blood-purist pig—"

"Neither is he. He's all the things that you're speaking of."

"He's a Deatheater!" Harry huffed. "Not everything is about him! And I'm pretty sure he's a pig, blood-purist or not."

"Then what is it about? Why are you apologizing? You should be proud of yourself right now. You cursed a nasty Slytherin that's just _dying _to join the Dark Lord—"

"You're not," he informed her. "I know you and I know that's not the case. And in case if you were wondering, it's about you. You love him too much to see what it's about."

"You may not hate me now," she said, leaning down to her pillow on the bed. "But you will soon. And when you do, I don't want you to regret it. I want you to know that I'll be your worst nightmare."

_A nightmare that's in the guise of a daydream._

"You're in love with him," he stated simply as it suddenly dawned upon him. And he cursed himself. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why didn't I realize it earlier?_

"Excuse me? He's like my brother, I'm supposed to love him. He's practically family. Wait," she suddenly looked at him as if he'd told her she'd grown another head. "You can't mean…" She giggled. Actually _giggled. _"You're so dense, Potter. It's adorable."

Harry was pretty sure that his face had turned an embarrassing shade of red by now, but she was blushing too. Suddenly the moonlight didn't feel very beautiful to him. But it was go down together or don't go down at all, right?

"I don't understand whether you're insulting me or complimenting me." He muttered.

"Blimey, Potter," she chuckled. "It's one of the reasons I like you, because I can both insult and compliment you at the same time."

"I'm going to take that as a 'You're forgiven, Harry,'" he joked, cracking a laugh.

"You are," she muttered. "Just never judge someone without actually knowing them. I'm not the person you think I am, and eventually, when you realize that you'll be shattered. And that will shatter _me_."

"You're not evil. And I'd like to. Know you, I mean."

"Funny," she reminisced, almost ignoring him. "I told Draco the same thing this morning."

"You lie to yourself even when it isn't necessary," accused Harry. "At first you even fooled me. You just confirmed it that you care by admitting I matter. You hate it that someone does, but that's just the way it is. You care about people, and whether you like it or not, you care about me. Which I can't say I'm very opposed to," he felt a smirk stretching across his face. "Since it's bothered me way more than it should've during the last two days."

"It was out of guilt, which you shouldn't feel," she bit out, still unconvinced. But her voice was trembling. "You shouldn't feel _any_thing for me. You're… You're not supposed to be capable of reading me! I made sure… I made sure you disliked me."

"Well, Princess, I hate to break it to you, but I don't," he rolled his eyes at her. "Besides, why are you so hell-bent on making me hate you?" Harry asked, groaning.

"You're going to ruin me, Harold," she sighed. "You already _are _ruining me. It's better that you feel repulsed by me while you're at it."

Harry's hand involuntarily reached for hers as he shifted in the chair. He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers as she sighed. Her hand felt so small, trembling in his grip, but much to his surprise, she didn't pull away from him. No matter how small it was, it fit in his hand like a missing puzzle piece, almost as if it had been made just for him.

"I could never—"

"I would try my best, nonetheless."

There'd been a shift in her tone. A small, nervous hitch, like she'd forgotten to swallow. It was back in the room they were in, like it had been the day he'd escorted her to the Slytherin Common Room; that _something_. That almost tangible mass of a moment waiting to happen.

_Screw it._

"Is this what you call repulsion?" He asked her, taking a deep breath as he leaned closer.

And Harry could've probably blamed what happened next on how close they were that moment, he could've blamed the stupid moonlight or the Felix Felicis he'd drunk half an hour ago, he could've blamed it on her cracked lips and red cheeks, he could've blamed her eyes and just _her, _because both the things were so easy to get lost into, but he didn't blame anything at all.

She breathed out like she'd received a jab to the stomach and dipped her head, shielding her eyes from him beneath her lashes. He didn't like that. Tucking his index finger underneath her chin, he tilted her head back up. He hadn't really planned anything beyond that gesture. As bizarre at it seemed now, he really had simply wanted to see her eyes. But here he was now, holding her face, and he was _dying_ to kiss her. The moment craved it. Demanded it, even.

They met each other in the middle; [Name] lifting up her face and Harry bending down. Their lips connected, and like a first kiss between nervous yet eager adolescents, this kiss was gentle. Testing. Careful. Curious. Slowly, Harry worked to deepen the kiss, pressing his mouth harder against hers and licking her tongue.

This was better.

This was more like them: purposeful and challenging. And he knew that he wouldn't ever have it any other way.

As she drew back from him, he smiled at her, mirth flickering across his eyes. "Because I don't think it's even remotely close to what you think it is. Quite the opposite; even right, I dare say."

She stared at him bewilderedly for a moment, "Are you sure about this?"

"Are you?" He shot back at her, grinning.

Abruptly, she pulled him to her by yanking his shirt, lifting her head and meeting his lips in a long, chaste kiss. Though surprised, he was overjoyed. She smiled against his lips, looking into his eyes squarely, like they were the only thing that tied her to the world. "I," she whispered as their kiss ended and they rested their foreheads against each other, gasping for air. "Wouldn't ever have it any other way."

And despite all her secrets, all her hesitation that Harry had felt earlier, "Neither would I." He answered her, grinning from ear to ear.

* * *

_...You get a cookie from me if you understood the _City of Heavenly Fire _and_ Dreams of Gods and Monsters _references._


End file.
